The Psalms, a hymnbook of the heart-born melodies of the redeemed, is in some parts 3,500 years old. Yet even this is late in the history of song. Before Moses and his multitude of former labor-camp slaves sang on the far side of the Red Sea (Ex. 15:1), before the patriarchs hummed a tune as they cared for their sheep, before the first birds warbled their inbred songs to a delighted Adam, even before the stars “sang together” (Job 38:7)–before all this, there was a singer. The Singer.
Music was God’s idea. He gave the quasars their eerie sounds that float across the light years from distant worlds to ours. He tuned the cicada’s violin, and put the haunting sonar in the porpoise. He provided the orchestral arrangement of the bird world–the honking of the geese, the cry of the loon, the hoot of the owl and the oriole’s trill.
Man was made as a composition. His heart held the musical score of the Master; he was designed to sing the praises of his Creator. But with sin, man’s song became a sigh. The planet that should have been the choir loft of the universe became the burial place of joy. Hope and peace attended her funeral and could never be the same again.
Enter the Singer. The night He arrived the angels filled the skies with the praises of God. The human race, however, did not like the song He sang. Thus the Singer became the Man of Sorrows–but He did not lose His song. In fact, the night He was betrayed, He led His disciples in one last song. More than likely it was Psalm 118. Listen to the words as the shadow of the cross falls upon them:
This is the day which the Lord hath made;
We will rejoice and be glad in it…
Bind the sacrifice with cords,
Even unto the horns of the altar…
O give thanks unto the Lord; for He is good:
For His mercy endureth for ever.
One of the great things about the Psalms is their universality. Everybody has a psalm. The psalmists didn’t just sing in the days of sunshine; they sang the “blues” as well. You can be sure, if there were songs appropriate for the Saviour on the cross, there are psalms for you today, no matter your circumstance.
Thus the Singer has restored the song to the hearts of those who trust in Him. “He hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God” (Ps. 40:3). Singing is listed as the first indication of the Spirit-filled life (Eph. 5:19; Col. 3:16). The God of the Song wants His people to sing even when things are dark. No, especially when things are dark. For He is the God “who giveth songs in the night” (Job 35:10).
Some years ago I went to visit Joe, an elder who was dying of leukemia. He was propped up in the hospital bed, wan and thin, but his face was radiant. His Bible lay open beside him. I asked him what he had heard from the Lord’s lips. He pointed me to Psalm 51:8. “Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice.” It was not the interpretation but an application to his present need that he was enjoying.
Joe explained, “My bones are broken; that’s what leukemia is. If the Lord wants to break my bones, that’s His right. But it’s my responsibility to see that I still rejoice!”
This is the triumph of the Christ who breathed out psalms even on the cross. It is singing in the hospital room, in the Valley of the Shadow, at the graveside. Singing through our tears until He wipes the last of them away. But when the tears are gone, the Song will have just begun. The Singer Himself will lead the Unfinished Symphony forever (like Schubert’s, it is Symphony No. 8, the number of the new beginning). And what will it be to hear His solo, that love-song to His Bride? “He will joy over thee with singing” (Zeph. 3:17). The Singer Himself declares: “In the midst of the church will I sing praise unto Thee” (Heb. 2:12). F. C. Jennings caught the idea when he penned the words:
Hark, my soul! thy Saviour sings;
Catch the joy that music brings;
And, with that sweet flood of song,
Pour thy whispering praise along.